I turned to her. ‘Course not,’ I lied. ‘Like you say, what would be the point? He might not even want to know me.’
Lauren left soon after this and I went up to my room. I did a Google search on Allan Faraday straight away, but it didn’t come up with anything. I’d worked out the man must now be forty-three but the rest of the information I had – all the medical stuff – wasn’t really much help. I slept badly that night, my dreams filled with dark shapes that loomed out of the shadows, then disappeared again, leaving me awake and trembling.
I finally dropped into a deeper sleep at about 5 am. I woke from this with a start just after 10 am and began my search again. This time, instead of just inputting Allan Faraday’s name, I trawled all the social networking sites I’d ever heard of as well as several that I hadn’t.
I came across scores of Faradays, but none of them fitted in terms of colouring, age or nationality. And then, after an hour or so, I stumbled across an entry on a media networking site called Bizznet. From the picture beside his job description – media consultant – this Faraday looked about the right age and he definitely had dark hair and eyes. I quickly clicked through to his full profile. My heartbeat quickened as I read on.
Allan Faraday, media consultant and freelance journalist. Dual US/UK nationality. Graduate of New York State University.
After this top line entry, there followed a list of the clients Faraday had worked for – loads of famous brand names among them – and then, at the end, a short biog.
Faraday, 43, lists among his interests soccer, film and basketball. You can follow him on Twitter @faradayall
It had to be him. All the details fitted, right down to the unusual two ‘l’s in ‘Allan’. My fingers were shaking as I logged onto Twitter and searched for his username. There. The most recent entry was for this morning. It said:
Leaving London tomorrow but looking forward to Brisbane Media drinks first. See ya there!
I gasped. He was in London. Right now. It was fate. I had to find him. All I needed to know was where this drinks party he referred to was being held. I flicked quickly through to the person he’d sent his tweet to, then opened their conversation to see if I could find out.
It took another few minutes but I soon had the info I needed. My biological father, Allan Faraday, was going to be at the Houses of Parliament tonight for a drinks reception starting at 7 pm.
And so was I.
5
A Hitch
Getting away from home and Annie was the easy bit, despite Annie’s overprotective habit of demanding to know where I was going and who I’d be with. I told her I was meeting my friend Rosa from school. I’m not exactly popular at school – I’m too shy and too serious for most of the airheads in my class – but Rosa and I genuinely get on. She comes from a majorly dysfunctional family too, with no dad and three older brothers, one of whom is in constant trouble with the police. Anyway, Rosa was quite happy to cover for me that evening.
I took the tube to Westminster then followed the map on my phone to the building with the designated entrance for the Brisbane Media drinks reception. The Houses of Parliament are huge and sprawling and it took longer than I’d expected. I didn’t reach the building I was looking for until almost 7.30 pm.
I’d taken a lot of trouble over how I looked. I normally wear jeans and jumpers or T-shirts and never any make-up, but today I put on a proper skirt and one of Annie’s silk shirts tied over a vest top. I was even wearing mascara and lipstick. As I walked towards the iron gate at the side of the big brick building, I could feel a million butterflies zooming around inside my stomach.
What was I going to say to Allan Faraday? I could hardly just march up to him and announce that I was his long-lost daughter. For all I knew, he might not even remember donating sperm over twenty years ago. Lauren’s warning rang in my ears:
He . . . he might not want to know you. And I’d hate to see you hurt.
She was right, of course. But I was prepared for rejection. The most important thing was that I met him . . . that I knew who he was . . . It was, surely, like a total sign that he should be in London the very day I went looking for him. And I knew from his tweets that he was leaving tomorrow. So this was my only chance to find him and introduce myself. I’d deal with whatever happened next, once it actually happened.
I was so caught up with all these thoughts that I didn’t notice the security guards at the gate until I was just a few metres away. They were really dressed up – in uniforms with . . . jeez, were they guns?
I stopped in my tracks.
Why hadn’t I thought that it might be tricky just to walk inside a drinks reception? Especially one in a high security area like Parliament. As I watched, two women approached the gate. They showed the guards pieces of card. Invitations.
What was I going to do now? Even if it had occurred to me earlier that I might need a formal invite, I’d have had no idea how to fake one. The two women laughed at something the guards said, then went inside. I backed away, looking around for an alternative entry point. There was nothing obvious. I could see a few ground-floor windows, but they were all closed – and all within the guards’ sightlines. There were no other doors.
I sauntered away, trying to look like I was casually strolling about. I rounded the corner. Now the guards could no longer see me. I spotted a fire door and rushed over. I pushed at it, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be locked, but it was.
Of course it was, this was the Houses of Parliament for goodness’ sake. Feeling defeated, I turned away. Was this it? I felt suddenly swamped with desolation. I’d been so close to Allan Faraday and now I was as far away from meeting him as ever. I knew I could hang around outside, waiting for him to arrive, but it was nearly twenty to eight now. He was probably already at the drinks reception. And I had no idea how long that was likely to last.
Jeez, I was so useless. When Lauren had gone looking for her birth family, she’d faced far harder obstacles than I was up against, including crossing the Atlantic, boarding a flight to a place she’d never been and breaking into a building in the middle of the night.
Lauren had faced down every single challenge, while I couldn’t even get into a simple drinks reception in my adopted hometown. So much for wanting to be a journalist. I wandered back towards the guards. What was I going to do? I could try talking my way in, but I really didn’t feel confident enough for that.
And then I spotted another door, on the other side of the guards. It was some way beyond them, though still clearly visible from where they were standing. A man – young, maybe early twenties – was standing outside, smoking a cigarette. From his stained apron and white cap – plus the steam issuing from the door behind him – I was guessing he had just stepped out from inside a kitchen.
I took a circuitous route that led me towards him without walking directly past the guards. As I approached, he looked up and smiled.
‘Hey, beautiful,’ he said, his eyes twinkling. His accent was heavily eastern European. ‘You want cigarette?’
I shook my head, tongue-tied. I was useless at talking to strangers, especially male ones. Boys quite often tried to chat me up but usually gave up in the face of my shyness. It didn’t much matter whether I liked someone or not, I could just never think of anything to say. ‘I . . . I don’t smoke,’ I stammered. What on earth was I doing? This guy wasn’t going to let me in anymore than the guards were. Unless . . . ‘I’m looking for a job,’ I said.
The young man raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t want work here,’ he said in a loud whisper. ‘Pay is terrible and boss is worse.’
‘Just a bit of part-time work?’ I glanced along the building. A large group was approaching the two guards. Neither of them were looking in my direction. I forced a smile onto my face. ‘Please?’
The young man stubbed out his cigarette. He winked at me. ‘You know with all security screenings is more trouble than worth for part-time work, but I will ask the boss if he hiring,’ he sai
d. ‘You wait here, beautiful. I come back.’
‘Sure.’
The young man disappeared inside. He let the door shut behind him, but I caught it before it closed completely and peered inside. The young man was whistling to himself as he strolled towards a set of swing doors. Steam swelled up above the doors and I could hear the sounds of pans clanking and people shouting.
I looked in the other direction. The corridor disappeared round a bend. Surely that had to lead to the rooms where the reception was being held? Either way, it was my best chance to get inside. As soon as the young man vanished behind the swing doors, I darted inside and tiptoed along the corridor. Round the bend, I reached a short flight of concrete stairs. Up these and through a door to another corridor – this one oak-panelled and lushly carpeted. As I crept along, voices drifted towards me from the doors on either side – a series of low, male mumbles. Where on earth was I? And how was I going to find the drinks reception and Allan Faraday?
I headed for the door at the end of this corridor. Hopefully this would lead me back down to the rooms where the reception was being held. I wiped my palms on my skirt as I sped along. Behind me a door smashed open against a wall.
‘Hey! Stop!’
I spun round. No. One of the guards from outside was just a few metres away, running towards me.
‘Stop!’ he yelled again.
Panic rising, I turned and fled for the door ahead. I reached it in a few steps. Yanked at the handle.
It was locked. The guard behind me pounded up. His hand slammed against the door by my head. I turned to face him. He was panting and puce in the face. His hand slid down to his gun. I stared at it in horror.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.
6
A Meeting
My mouth opened and shut silently. I gulped. What could I say? I was sure that, if she were in my place, Lauren would have come up with some ultra-convincing reason for being there. But all I could think to say was the truth.
‘I was looking for my father,’ I stammered. ‘Allan Faraday. He’s at the Brisbane Media drinks reception.’
The guard took a step back and looked me up and down. Faces were peering out from the rooms on either side of the corridor. I kept my gaze on the guard. His expression was softening, as if he were registering how young I was – and how frightened. He took his hand away from his gun and reached inside his jacket pocket.
‘The reception is next door,’ he said, taking out a walkie-talkie radio.
‘I know but . . .’ Again I searched for a good reason for entering the building. Nothing came. ‘. . . But I didn’t have an invite so I didn’t think you’d let me in.’
‘What’s your name?’
I told him.
‘Any ID?’
I took out my student card. The guard studied it for a moment, then tilted his head to one side and gazed at me thoughtfully.
‘You don’t have the same surname as your dad,’ he said.
‘I know.’ I could feel my face burning.
‘So why is it so urgent you want to get hold of him?’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you just ring him?’
‘I . . . I don’t have his number . . . I just know that he’s here for one night in London and . . . and I wanted to see him . . .’ The words came out in a big, blubbery sob. Tears pricked at my eyes. I sounded ridiculous and I hated that I’d just given away so much personal, private information.
The guard sighed. ‘Look, love, you can’t go crashing about like this. There are national security implications for a start. What did you say your dad’s name was?’
‘Allan Faraday, but . . .’ I stopped, unwilling to explain that Faraday would have absolutely no idea who I was.
Ignoring my hesitation, the guard spoke into his radio.
‘Bob?’ he said into the mouthpiece. ‘I found the girl who snuck in. She says she’s a Madison Purditt and she’s looking for her father. Can you check him on the guest list . . . it’s an Allan Faraday.’
The radio crackled, then a voice on the other end spoke.
‘Yup, he’s here, Jerry.’
‘Right.’ Jerry looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Would you ask him to step outside, please?’
No. My mouth dropped open in horror. Apart from the fact that Allan Faraday was hardly likely to come outside to meet a daughter he didn’t even know existed, this was so not the way I’d imagined introducing myself to him. I’d planned to find him and study him for a minute or two first. Then, when I was ready, I would move over gracefully and ask for a quiet word. I didn’t know what I was going to say after that, but I’d imagined I’d be able to introduce myself gently and carefully.
Not like this.
‘Come outside.’ Jerry led me back along the corridor and down the steps.
Outside the air seemed colder than it had before. My heart was totally in my mouth. I tried to move away, but Jerry gripped my arm.
‘Don’t think about running, love,’ he said. ‘That would be really stupid.’
I gulped. Suppose Allan Faraday wouldn’t come outside? I’d probably be arrested. Annie would go into total hysterics.
Jerry led me along to the entrance to the drinks reception. I kept my head bowed. The light was fading now, casting shadows across our path.
We reached the entrance and stopped. The other guard was checking someone’s invite and didn’t look round.
‘Wait here with me,’ Jerry said. Now he’d stopped running his face had returned to normal colour and I could see that he was probably about thirty, with soft creases around his eyes.
The seconds ticked by. I kept my gaze on the grey pavement at my feet. And then a man appeared in the doorway. I noticed his shoes first – shiny and pointy and black. Very smart. I looked up a little, taking in the sharp creases of his designer suit.
‘What’s this about?’ the man said. He had a strange accent – somewhere between English and American. ‘They said someone wanted me.’
Oh my goodness. It was him. I still couldn’t look up, properly, into his face.
‘Are you Allan Faraday, sir?’ Jerry asked.
‘Yes.’ The man sounded suspicious. ‘Why? Who’s asking?’
Jerry cleared his throat. ‘I’ve got this girl here – Madison Purditt. She was caught trying to get into the reception. Says she’s your daughter?’
The question hung in the air. I wanted to evaporate where I stood. This was totally humiliating.
‘My daughter?’ Allan Faraday sounded as shocked as I’d have expected him to. ‘I don’t have a daughter.’
‘Ah.’ Jerry’s voice was a mix of embarrassment, confusion and anger. I could tell he was looking at me, though my eyes were still fixed on Allan Faraday’s shoes. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you, sir.’
Say something, Madison.
Allan Faraday’s shoes took a step back. He was going back into the drinks reception and I was going to be arrested and I hadn’t even looked at his face.
Allan Faraday took another step away from me.
I forced myself to look up, into his eyes.
He was tall with high cheekbones. Much better looking than in his Bizznet photo, with dark hair slicked back off his face and a look of Lauren about his mouth. He stared back at me, his forehead creased with a frown.
‘Why are you saying I’m your father?’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen you before.’
My mouth was dry and my legs were trembling and my heart was hammering against my ribs. My whole focus was on Allan Faraday. I stared at him, forgetting Jerry and the other guard standing beside us. The distant traffic noises and the cool night air faded to nothing. This was my one chance.
I had to get it right.
‘Mr Faraday, you . . . you . . .’ I lowered my voice; this was beyond embarrassing, ‘. . . you donated sperm that was used by a clinic in Evanport, Connecticut. It was my mother who used it and . . . and . . . that’s how you are my father.’
7
The Invite
Faraday’s mouth gaped and his eyes widened as he took in what I’d said. I was aware of Jerry, the guard, hovering nearby, watching us intently. I couldn’t believe I’d just blurted out the facts like that. And what if I’d got something so personal all wrong? What if this wasn’t the same Allan Faraday? What if he denied ever donating sperm? Except . . . I looked at his mouth again. His lips definitely curved in the same ‘bow’ shape as Lauren’s.
Faraday stared at me. ‘Sperm donation is anonymous,’ he said slowly. ‘At least it was back then, when I did it.’
My heart leaped. That meant he was admitting being involved, didn’t it?
‘How old are you, Madison?’ he went on. ‘Where are you from?’
‘I’m fifteen,’ I said. ‘My family was originally from Evanport in, er, in the States, but we live here now. That is, me and my mum live here – we moved here after my . . . my dad – the man who brought me up – after he died.’
I glanced at Jerry, the guard, wishing he wasn’t watching me. Faraday followed my gaze. He cleared his throat, then leaned over and whispered something in Jerry’s ear.
‘All right, then, Miss Purditt,’ Jerry said. ‘You can go. But next time be more careful.’
Faraday indicated the path leading back to the street. ‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘Let’s get to the bottom of this.’
My chest tightened as he led me towards the pavement. Had he believed me? What was he thinking? What was he going to say? He strode on, away from the building. I had to walk fast to keep up with him. As we reached the main road, he glanced down at me and stopped.
‘So,’ he said. ‘You’re looking for your birth father?’
I nodded.
‘Well, you’ve successfully got me out of what was admittedly a rather boring drinks reception, so go on, tell me why you think it’s me,’ Faraday said. There was a hint of impatience in his voice, but his eyes were warm, almost twinkling, as if he were more amused by the situation than anything.
I took the sperm donor report Annie had given me out of my pocket.
Missing Me Page 3
